


Pink Carnations (mean “I’ll never forget you”)

by raiining



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, make the hurting stop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 05:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20148463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining
Summary: Crowley couldn’t stop thinking about it.





	Pink Carnations (mean “I’ll never forget you”)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Atalan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atalan/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Flowers for Anthony](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20126557) by [Atalan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atalan/pseuds/Atalan). 

> Okay, so this fic wrecked me. You know when you read something? And it hurts? Like, it HURTS. It’s so wonderfully written, and so painfully cruel, that it takes up space inside of you and just demands every tear?
> 
> That was this fic for me.
> 
> So of course I had to fix it. 
> 
> I’m not sorry. I needed this. I’m not sorry at all.
> 
> (Edit: just realized this is my ONLY Good Omens fic where the title does not come from Queen! Argh! Ah well, that's clearly how much I needed to write and post this story, lol)
> 
> Beta’d by the wonderful nieded because she is awesome and said she would when I confessed that I’d cried.

Crowley couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

Two weeks had passed since he’d handed the bouquet over to Aziraphale and he couldn’t — he couldn’t _ stop. _ He found himself looking up sharply whenever the bell to the shop rang. He’d run in from the back if he wasn’t standing at the counter. He was on a hair trigger. He was waiting.

But he waited in vain. Aziraphale had said he’d never return to this place, and horrible as it was, after two weeks had past, Crowley believed him.

Which meant, he thought, as he fumbled for a cup of coffee after another night of dreams, that it was up to him to find Aziraphale.

He didn’t know where to start. He’d never gone _ looking _ for anyone before. He’d always been the one to leave, the one to walk away. It had never been hard. No one had ever felt _ right _ to Crowley. He enjoyed people’s company, and he’d liked more than one person. He had even loved sometimes (his parents, in a quiet way. His cat) but he’d never, he’d never felt… whatever it was he felt with Aziraphale.

And he’d met him a whopping two times. It was possible Crowley was making too much of this.

But the dreams wouldn’t leave him alone, and his neck wouldn’t stop turning. Yesterday he found himself reaching for a man wearing a white waistcoat, making him stop on the street, only to realize that it wasn’t him.

It wasn’t Aziraphale.

So Crowley said to hell with his doubts and tried the internet. It didn’t give him much. He typed in variations of the name, but there was nothing — _ suspiciously _ nothing. No social media accounts, no online presence. The name was a blank.

It was maddening, all the more so because he felt there should be more. He had a nagging certainty of _ something. _ Something associated with Aziraphale.

Flames?

No.

_ Books. _

Crowley deleted his search history and typed in _ bookshops. _ His fingers trembled on the keys.

There was a list, of course, thirty pages long because this was _ London. _ You couldn’t go two blocks without hitting a bookstore. Crowley visited all of them. He took time away from the flower shop to search, to walk inside every one, only to be disappointed every time.

They weren’t _ right. _ They weren’t —

He stopped.

Crowley didn’t know where he was. He’d gotten frustrated with the last shop and had just — kept walking. He’d moved on autopilot, threading through traffic, and his feet had taken him here.

Here.

Crowley looked up.

The sign was illegible, the words impossible to make out. The windows were dirty and there were no lights on inside.

But this was it.

Crowley didn’t question the certainty he felt, nor the feeling that if he walked in now, if he pushed, Aziraphale would vanish. He’d been quite specific back in Crowley’s shop. He clearly meant never to see Crowley again, but Crowley couldn’t — wouldn’t — leave it at that.

Making a decision, Crowley ran across the street to a grocers, purchased a fresh bundle of rosemary, and hurried back to the store.

The lights were still off. Aziraphale might not even be home.

Crowley left the bundle on the doorstep anyway. Then, stuffing his hands in his pockets to stop their trembling, he headed for the nearest tube station and went home.

He spent the rest of the afternoon at his shop. Customers came and went. Crowley tied up arrangements and picked out bouquets, trimmed his lillies and ordered more roses, and the entire time he could not stop thinking of Aziraphale and the bookshop.

Maybe he should have knocked. Maybe he should have just _ gone in. _ But Crowley had always trusted his instincts and his instincts had told him that if he pushed this, Aziraphale would run.

He’d run before. Crowley wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he did.

He went to bed that night knowing the nightmares would be back. They were. It was the same howling anger and then the terrible, aching loss. But this time there were books, and flames, and Aziraphale’s bright eyes filling with unshed tears.

He woke with a gasp. His hands were shaking again.

He went back to the bookshop.

The rosemary was gone. Crowley stared at the place where it had been with his heart beating a staccato inside his chest. It didn’t meant anything. Anyone could have taken it. The bookshop was still closed up tight, the lights were off.

He walked away and returned with pink carnations. He left them on the stairs.

It became a new morning routine. He’d get up, catch the tube, and leave flowers for Aziraphale. At first he left an echo of the bouquet he’d created — allium and heather — and then other flowers he’d looked up the meanings for. Pink camellia for longing. Forsythia for anticipation. Purple hyacinth for forgiveness. 

His own or Aziraphale’s, he couldn’t be sure.

The flowers were always gone by the next morning. There was never anything waiting for him in return. 

The routine stretched through the weeks, twining about the seasons. Crowley left orange chrysanthemum when it turned to fall and pansies in the winter. At Christmas he left poinsettias, trite, perhaps, but true. He thought he knew that Aziraphale would like them.

He thought a lot of things, mostly in his dreams. They came every night. They never changed.

Until one day, they did.

“You’ve never gone to him before,” the young boy said, standing under the apple tree. “He’s always come to you.”

Crowley blinked and looked around. He didn’t know this place. He usually knew where he was in his dreams. Even if he didn’t _ know, _ his dream-self knew. A place would be familiar — Rome, Baghdad, France. But this place… Crowley didn’t know this place.

“It’s Tadfield,” the boy said, looking around. “It’s been a long time, but I’ll never let it go.”

Crowley found his voice. “Who are you?”

The boy looked at him. “He found you,” he said instead. “He’s done that before, but then you did something new — you found him, too.”

Crowley licked his lips. They felt dry, even in the dream. His heart was pounding. “He’s important.”

The boy cocked his head. “Is he?”

“He is to _ me.” _

The boy regarded him. “Interesting. Maybe there’s only so much you can forget. Maybe it’s getting stronger the longer you go.”

Crowley crossed his arms over his chest. He was getting tired of people talking in riddles. “Or maybe I’m just stubborn.”

The boy laughed. “No one’s more stubborn than Aziraphale.”

Crowley stared. “You _ know _him.”

The boy looked serious again. “I know both of you.”

“Then _ help _me,” Crowley said. His hands were clenched into fists at his side. “Help me help him.”

The boy cocked his head. “How?”

Crowley threw up his hands. “I don’t know,” he said exasperated. “Help me to understand. Help me to _ know.” _

“I can’t,” the boy said. He shook his head. “That’s the tragedy of it. That’s why they did what they did — you’d never survive. There are some things a human brain can’t be expected to understand.”

Crowley had had enough of this. “Try me,” he growled.

The boy stared at him. “You’ll die.”

Crowley couldn’t help but smile. “I get the feeling I’ve done that before.”

The boy didn’t laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “You have, but not like this.” 

“It’s worth it,” Crowley said. “_He’s _ worth it.”

“Are you sure?”

Crowley clenched his hands so tight his nails dug into his palms. The pain stung. It _ hurt. _

This was not a dream.

“Yes,” Crowley said, certain. “I am.”

The boy smiled. It was a crooked smile, and small, but it lit up his face. “Yeah, you are,” he agreed. “You’ve been certain for a while now, haven’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer but turned and reached for the tree. There was an apple hanging there, bright and red with a brilliant shine.

The boy plucked it easily. He turned towards Crowley. “Here,” he said. “Catch.” 

Crowley caught it. It fell into his hands with an odd weight, too heavy, too _ full. _ He looked at it. It looked delicious, but Crowley knew it wouldn’t be. He could sense the bitterness, the pain. He could feel the whole of it in his palms.

He knew this was going to hurt. 

He thought of Aziraphale and bit into it anyways.

_ Knowledge _ flooded him. So much — _ too much. _ He heard a scream and realized it was coming from his own throat. He felt — he _ felt _ —

Too much. The boy — _ Adam, _ Crowley knew with cold certainty, the one fact penetrating the agony of his mind — had been right. There were some things a human brain wasn’t supposed to understand.

This was going to kill him. He was going to die because he couldn’t let something go, because he questioned, because he demanded _ answers. _

For some reason, it wasn’t a surprise.

But then, as if from a long way away, Crowley hear a startled gasp, and it was a gasp he _ knew. _

Aziraphale.

There was an ear-splitting _ pop _ and then a terrible, beautiful _ presence _ filled the dream space. It was a welcome, painful light that pressed at him. Crowley realized he was seeing it through his eyelids, that he’d clenched them shut in his agony.

“What are you doing?” a voice thundered. _ Aziraphale’s _voice. 

Crowley was hunched over, still screaming in pain. He didn’t think he could stop, but he managed to pry his eyes open. Tears streaming down his face, he looked at Aziraphale. 

He was radiant. He’d appeared next to the tree in agonizing glory, a flaming sword in his hand, a halo around his head, and two wide, achingly white wings extending out from his shoulders. 

He stared at Crowley in horror, his beautiful face collapsing in fear. He’d asked the question, but he already knew the answer. He already understood.

Adam told him anyway.

“It was his decision. He wanted to know.”

“He’ll _ die."_

Crowley’s eyes had fallen shut again. He managed to wrestle them open. It hurt, but it hurt somehow more to see that Aziraphale looked as though _ he _ were the one in agony, as though he suffered from the pain.

Adam’s voice was very soft, but Crowley could still hear every word. “Yes,” Adam said. “He will.”

_ “Do _ something,” Aziraphale pleaded.

“I can’t,” Adam said. “This was his choice to make, and he’s made it. It will kill him, but that was his choice too.”

Crowley could see the moment Aziraphale decided. Suddenly there was steel in his eyes, underneath the aching blue.

“No —” he tried to choke, but no one seemed to hear him.

“Then this is _ my _ choice,” Aziraphale said. “Take what keeps me alive and give it to him.”

Crowley ground his teeth together against the pain. “No —!”

But no one was looking at him. Adam was staring at Aziraphale. “Then _ you’ll _die.”

“But he’ll live,” Aziraphale said. Something seemed to break inside him because suddenly there were tears in his eyes. “The only thing that has made this bearable, the only thing that has kept me going, is the knowledge that he is _alive_. That he exists somewhere in the world. If he dies, if this kills him, then there’s no point in me going on.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley tried again. His voice croaked, but he managed to force it through the screams. “I didn’t do this, I didn’t risk this, just to watch you die.”

Aziraphale finally turned back to look at him. The expression on his face was infinitely tender and sad. “I know, my dear,” he said, and the words in turn broke something inside of Crowley, even battered as he was by waves of pain, “but it’s my fault. I should never have sought you out.”

“I would’ve wanted you to,” Crowley pleaded. He knew the words were true.

“Nevertheless,” Aziraphale said. “That was the choice _ I _ made. I could have stayed away.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” Adam declared. “It wasn’t fair.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Aziraphale agreed. He looked at Adam again. “Does that mean you’ll do as I say?”

“No,” Adam said. There was something final in his voice. He raised one hand. “And yes. I can’t take what makes you an angel and give it to him no more than I could restore what he once was, but he _ was _ an angel at one time. Maybe that’ll be enough. Maybe you’ll be able to share.”

With that, he clenched his hand. Aziraphale let out a sound and doubled over.

“No!” Crowley cried again. He tried to crawl toward Aziraphale, except Aziraphale threw up a hand.

“No,” he said. “Wait —”

And then the terrible, harsh glow that had encased Aziraphale _ thrummed. _ Its fire roared. Crowley reached for Aziraphale as it surged towards him. “Angel — !” he started.

He never finished. Instead the heavenly light reached him, and then it flooded _ into _ him, and suddenly, there was _ room _ . The memories, the past, the _ knowledge _ that had been ripping him apart had space to breathe. Crowley gasped —

And six thousand years of _ knowing _ hit him at once.

Crowley screamed.

It was _ so much. _ Of course a human mind could not comprehend this. Of course he would have died. The whole of it tumbled through him at once, not just static images but moving pictures, active memories, wonderful feelings. Thoughts. _ Smells. _

There was the Garden, and Aziraphale. Rome and Aziraphale. Spain and Aziraphale. Aziraphale Aziraphale Aziraphale —

Hell.

Aziraphale.

Adam.

Aziraphale.

Having everything, and then losing it all. Not even knowing himself as it ripped away. 

No Aziraphale.

Crowley didn’t think he could scream any more, but he did.

He came to an unknown amount of time later on the ground in the dream-that-wasn’t-a-dream. Adam sat cross legged under the tree, leaning against its bark, waiting for him. He juggled a pair of apples in his hand. 

Crowley groaned and tried to turn over. He saw a mound of white feathers. “Aziraphale!” 

His voice came out as a croak. His throat felt raw. Talking hurt, but it was worth it, because the mound of feathers moved.

“Oh my,” Aziraphale said. He sounded wrecked. “That _ hurt.” _

Crowley could only stare at him. He looked — okay. Except that as Aziraphale sat up, Crowley could see that his feathers didn’t follow. They stayed in a puddle, pooled on the ground.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered. “Your wings —”

Aziraphale stopped. His head turned until he was staring at Crowley. He didn’t spare a glance for his missing wings or the feathers that littered the ground. He had eyes only for Crowley. He stared at him, the way he’d looked at him in Mesopotamia. The way he’d looked at him looked in Rome.

Like he was the best, most unexpected thing. Like he _ mattered. _

“Crowley?” he gasped.

Crowley smiled. “Hey, Angel.”

“Oh, _ Crowley!” _ Aziraphale cried. He flung himself forward. 

Crowley ached in every part of his being. He _ hurt _ in a way he hadn’t for millennia, but he still managed to get his arms up in time to catch his Angel. Of course he did.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered. He held him close. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I left you.”

Aziraphale cried. His tears soaked Crowley’s shirt. “It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t your fault,” he sobbed. “You tried to tell me so many times. You told me to move on, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I’m sorry, my dear. I could never let you go.”

“I never forgot you,” Crowley promised. “Even when I didn’t remember, I _ knew. _ I knew you were something special.”

“My darling,” Aziraphale whispered. He clung to him.

They clung to each other.

“Well,” Adam said from the base of the tree, “this is pretty much what I was going for.” 

Crowley looked over at him. He remembered what Adam had said. Pulling away slightly, he looked down at Aziraphale. His wings were gone. Those weren’t just feathers scattered on the ground, his wings were _ gone. _ The brilliant fire that had been within him had dimmed, too.

“What did you do?” Crowley gasped.

Adam smiled. He looked tired. Eleven year olds weren’t meant to look so tired. Crowley knew that Adam wasn’t really eleven, but still, he was clearly exhausted.

“Like I said,” Adam replied, “I took what Uncle Aziraphale had and I just sort of — _ split _ it — a little. He’s not an angel anymore, but he’s also not human.” He looked at Crowley. “And neither are you. You’re both sort of — half.”

“Half?” Crowley asked.

“Half-human, half-other,” Adam said with a shrug. “I don’t think you’ll be able to do miracles, but you’ll probably live forever.” He stopped and thought. “Maybe. You _ might _ grow old, just very, very slowly. But whatever happens, it’ll happen to the two of you together.”

Crowley felt a crushing sense of loss for his angel. “Oh, no,” he whispered. “Aziraphale.”

“No,” Aziraphale said emphatically, cutting him off with a fierce embrace. “That’s all I’ve _ ever _ wanted. Crowley, that’s all I’ve wanted for _ years_.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale. He swallowed. He could feel the weight of those years, the sadness, the loss, the pain. He’d felt it too, though he hadn’t known why or what he’d been missing. 

“It’s okay,” he promised, pulling Aziraphale close again. “We’re together now.” 

*

Crowley woke alone in his apartment. For a horrible moment, he thought it had been a dream, but the terrible weight of memories was still heavy in his mind, and his fingers knew the number to the bookshop by rote.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley croaked, the moment the ringing stopped.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed. “Where are you? I’ll come to you.”

“I — above the flower shop,” Crowley said. He wanted to say he’d go to the bookshop, but he honestly wasn’t sure he could move. Everything _ hurt. _

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Aziraphale promised. 

He made it in ten.

“Oh, _ Crowley,” _Aziraphale said, the moment he burst into the apartment.

Crowley could only lift his arms. Aziraphale took that as the invitation it was and threw himself onto the bed, burying his face in Crowley’s neck.

“Crowley, Crowley, Crowley,” he chanted. There was an edge of mania to his voice. A plea. “Tell me this is real.”

“It’s real, Angel,” Crowley said. He didn’t want to know, but he felt that he should. The weight was too heavy, the sadness too great. “How long —?”

But Aziraphale only shuddered and shook. “Too long, my love,” he said. “Too long.”

It had been. The memories were there, and Crowley knew he’d have to process the horror of it. He’d have to deal with that, but it was something they would do together, later.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said. “I’m here.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathed. “You are.” 

*

It took them two days to leave the flat and another two weeks before Crowley opened the shop. His flowers had all wilted and his rent was overdue. Thankfully, he had a little extra put aside.

“I’ve got accounts in all the major cities,” Aziraphale reassured when he mentioned it. He was walking through the shop, trailing a hand along the shelves. “We’ll be okay for a while.”

Crowley squinted. The memories were still a little jumbled. “That’s not something you had before.”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “I set them up shortly after — after. I never knew where I’d find you, after all.”

Crowley had to cross the floor to hug him. He didn’t let go for a long time. “I’m so sorry you had to suffer, Angel.”

Aziraphale clung to him. “At least I knew you were alive.”

Crowley huffed a laugh. “What, cause Heaven didn’t want me, and Hell wouldn’t let me in?”

Aziraphale only held him closer. “Something like that.”

Crowley breathed in the scent of him. Old clothes and books. There had been something more, before. Something heavenly.

He didn’t miss it.

“Come on, Angel,” Crowley said. “You can help me set up the shop.”

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale said, gazing at him. “There is nothing in the world I’d rather do more.”

~ The end


End file.
